One evening after ballet class, my five-year-old daughter told me she was getting a new mum—her dance teacher. I tried to keep my cool, but her words didn’t sound like a joke. The more she spoke, the clearer it became that something was happening behind my back… something I hadn’t dared to imagine.
I’d given up my dream for my daughter. Ever since I was little, I’d wanted to be a professional ballroom dancer. I loved the music, the elegant moves, the sparkle of the costumes. Dancing made me feel alive, like I could fly. For a while, it seemed like I was on my way. I danced in local competitions and worked hard to improve. Even after I married James, I kept going to the studio, holding onto my dream.
We hadn’t planned to have a child so soon, but life surprised us. When I found out I was pregnant, everything changed overnight. My priorities shifted. I stopped dancing, thinking it’d only be for a little while. But once Poppy was born, it became clear I couldn’t go back. The time, the energy, the opportunities—they were all gone. I was a mum now.
But I never regretted it. Poppy was the best thing that ever happened to me. Her tiny hands, her big blue eyes, the way she said “Mummy”—she filled my heart in ways dancing never could. I loved her more than I ever thought possible.
Still, a dream, even if set aside, never really fades. And deep down, I hoped Poppy would love dancing too. That’s why, when she asked to take lessons after James showed her videos of my old performances, I nearly cried. I signed her up straight away.
But soon after, I noticed James acting strangely. He was distant, always working late, barely speaking when he got home. One evening, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I looked at him across the kitchen table and asked, “Do you not want Poppy dancing?”
He seemed surprised. “No. Why would you think that?”
“You’ve been different. Coming home late. Barely talking. You feel miles away.”
He sighed. “Emma, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“But there is,” I said. “You never tell me about work anymore. You eat in silence. You won’t even look at me.”
He leaned back in his chair. “I’ve just been swamped, that’s all.”
“I know you never liked dancing,” I said. “You never danced with me—not at our wedding, not at parties. I let it slide. But maybe now it bothers you. Maybe you don’t want Poppy to dance either.”
He shook his head. “That’s not it. I love seeing her happy. She’s always smiling after class.”
“Then what’s wrong?” I asked. “Please, just be honest.”
He paused. “Nothing’s wrong. You’re overthinking it. Work’s just been mad lately.”
He got up, came over, and hugged me, stroking my hair like he used to. I closed my eyes, but my stomach still twisted. Something wasn’t right.
After that chat, things did seem better. James started coming home earlier. He talked more—little things, like what he’d had for lunch, who’d cracked a joke at work, how the traffic was a nightmare. I began to relax. Maybe I’d overreacted. Maybe he really had just been stressed. I wanted to believe that.
Then one afternoon, I picked up his phone to check a recipe. Mine had died, and I was in a rush. As I typed, recent transactions popped up—odd payments with no names, just amounts and codes. My stomach dropped. James always told me when he bought something. Always. He’d even ring from the shops to ask if I wanted anything. So what were these?
I stared at the screen. Then I remembered our anniversary was coming up. Maybe he was planning a surprise—a trip? A gift? That had to be it.
The next morning, after he left for work, I snooped. I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. I searched his office—drawers, behind books, under papers. Nothing. Then I checked our wardrobe. Everything was neat, except one shirt crumpled in the corner. I picked it up. Glitter. Pink, sparkly glitter, like the kind used in stage makeup.
I don’t own anything like that. My hands shook. Where had he been?
I texted him: We need to talk the second you’re home.
I left the shirt on the bed, too disgusted to touch it again, then drove to collect Poppy from nursery. My hands trembled on the wheel. Poppy’s chatter brought me back.
She climbed in, grinning, and told me about her day—drawings of houses and hearts, how Lily wouldn’t share crayons, how Noah cried over a stolen snack. Nursery drama. A whole world of tiny people with big feelings. I nodded along, but my mind was racing.
When we got home, Poppy asked, “Do I have ballet today?”
I hesitated. “I’m not sure Dad can take you.”
Her face fell. “But I really want to go!”
I couldn’t let her down. I texted James: Never mind. We’ll talk after you and Poppy get back.
When James arrived, I couldn’t even look at him. I handed him Poppy’s dance bag and turned away. He didn’t ask questions—just took her and left.
The second the door shut, I paced—kitchen to lounge, lounge to hallway. I thought about what I’d do if it was true. If he was cheating. I’d already decided: I wouldn’t stay. Not for Poppy. Not for anyone.
I sat on the sofa, staring at our family photos—our wedding, Poppy’s first birthday, Christmas in matching pyjamas. It hurt to look. I’d trusted James completely. Loved him with everything. And now, it felt like it was crumbling.
Just as I was about to break, the doorbell rang. My heart leapt. James wouldn’t ring—he had a key. I opened the door. Sophie stood there, holding Poppy’s hand—another mum from the ballet class. Poppy beamed up at me like nothing was wrong.
“Hi,” I said. “Why’s Poppy with you? Where’s James?”
Sophie smiled. “He said he had something urgent. Asked if I could drop her off. No bother.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, taking Poppy’s hand.
As Sophie left, I shut the door and called James. No answer. Again. Still nothing.
“Who are you calling?” Poppy asked.
“Your dad,” I said.
“Why? Because I’m getting a new mum now?”
I froze. “What did you say?”
She looked at me. “Miss Charlotte’s going to be my new mum.”
“Who told you that?”
“No one. But Dad’s always with her. They hug sometimes.”
“You saw them hug?” I asked, my voice tight.
She nodded. “Yeah. I like Miss Charlotte. But I still want you to be my mum too.”
My chest ached. Not only had he cheated—he’d done it where our daughter could see.
“Poppy, go pack your toys. We’re going to Nana’s.”
“Okay,” she said. Then, softly, “Don’t tell Dad I told you. He said it’s a secret.”
“I won’t, love,” I whispered.
I took Poppy to my parents’, told them she’d sleep over, then drove straight to the dance studio. I didn’t care what time it was. I was shaking, furious, heart pounding.
I stormed in. There they were—James and Charlotte, standing too close, that unspoken tension between them.
“Why is our daughter saying she’ll have a new mum? Her ballet teacher!” I shouted.
Charlotte looked stunned. “What?!”
“If you’re cheating,” I spat at James, “at least have the decency not to do it in front of our child!”
“Emma,” Charlotte said, “you’ve got this all wrong.”
“No one asked you—” I choked on my words.
“I’m not cheating,” James said firmly. “Never.”
“Then explain the secret payments!” I yelled. “The late nights? The glittery shirt? And Poppy saw you hugging Charlotte!”
James rubbed his temples. “Poppy must’ve misunderstood.”
“Misunderstood?! Kids say what they see! She thinks she’s getting a new mum!”
“I don’t want any part of this,” Charlotte said, backing away.
“But you’re fine sleeping with my husband?!” I snapped.
“No one’s slept with anyone!” James shouted. “I asked Charlotte to teach me to dance. For you. For our anniversary.”
“What?” I gasped, like I’d been struck.
“Yes,” James said. “I’ve never liked dancing. Never learned. But it matters to you, so I wanted to surprise you.”
“Then why not just tell me
